


He's a Liar, He's a Saint

by LadyWindSpirit



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Aromantic, Aromantic Charlie Weasley, Asexual Character, Asexual Charlie Weasley, Asexuality, Care of Magical Creatures, Coming Out, Coming of Age, Dragons, F/M, Gen, Hogwarts, M/M, Quidditch, Romanian Dragon Sanctuary, The Burrow (Harry Potter), The Forbidden Forest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2018-11-28
Packaged: 2019-08-29 05:41:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16738177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyWindSpirit/pseuds/LadyWindSpirit
Summary: Charlie Weasley is a liar. Charlie Weasley is a saint. Charlie Weasley is gay. Charlie Weasley is straight. Nobody really knows. Nobody really cares. “Do you want to hear my story?” But nobody is there.





	1. Charlie Weasley is a Liar

Although the Dragon Sanctuary will always be his home, Charlie still enjoys his trips back to the Burrow, and he always will. It is nice to see his mother and father, his brothers and sister, and the never-ending number of nieces and nephews. 

It is a bit too much, sometimes, though. As the trip always seems to start with a sibling and a spouse, faces shining, smiles beaming, sticking a new baby under his nose. “This is Dominique,” they would say, or “This is Albus,” and Charlie would wonder how it would be possible for so many people, so many children, to exist. Charlie would be happy to meet them, of course, and a part of him would be teary-eyed. Babies were wonderful, after all, just like baby dragons. But he would also feel a stab of anxiety in his stomach, and he would have to grin it away. “He is beautiful,” he would say, and the ritual would be complete. 

This time, he is presented with Hugo, who is a cute child, and well behaved. Charlie cradles him gently in his arms and wonders what kind of person he will grow up to be. Will Hugo be straight-forward and sarcastic like his father, or intelligent and compassionate like his mother? Or, perhaps, he will be neither. People have a habit of forgetting that is an option. 

“Hugo is such a wonderful child,” Charlie’s mother says, as if she hasn’t said that about every grandson and every granddaughter. Charlie makes a face at his nephew and watches Hugo squeal in delight. He prepares himself for the inevitable. He reminds himself that he is happy. 

“So, Charlie, are you dating someone?” his mother asks, right on que. And Charlie responds, “No, I’m too busy at work at the moment.” He feels his heart clench, because he is both telling the truth and lying at the same time. It is exhausting. But now, with the ritual complete, he leaves his mother behind and carries Hugo off to the garden. It is beautiful outside, and Charlie would never understand why everyone is eating their food inside. It is suffocating. Charlie always feels like he is suffocating. 

There is a bee collecting nectar from a flower. Charlie watches it and rocks Hugo against his chest. Bees are amazing creatures. They pollinate the flowers while collecting nectar. They ensure the survival of their species, and their young, while doing a great service to the world around them. People could argue that Charlie is doing nothing to promote the survival of his own species. He has no children. He is single. He will always be single. This fact will never change.

“Do you think I’m selfish?” he asks Hugo, but Hugo is sleeping now. Charlie sighs and watches the bee fly away. He must be full of nectar. He must be going home.

“You know, I was lying to your grandmother,” he tells Hugo, as he watches Hugo sleep. Sometimes, Charlie feels like he keeps too many secrets. Sometimes, Charlie talks to himself in the shower. He admits all his stress, all his fears, while he squirts shampoo into his hair. “But I was telling the truth at the same time. It’s confusing, isn’t it?” And he sighs again. 

There is a garden gnome, now, in the garden. Charlie watches him sneak in from the corner of his eye. He pretends not to notice. He has never liked throwing the gnomes over the fence. He admits to Hugo, “We are really busy at the Dragon Sanctuary. We have 5 new baby dragons. We have never had that many newborns at the same time.”

Everywhere Charlie looks, there seems to be babies. Charlie sighs and cradles Hugo closer to his chest. It will become tiring holding him in this position. Charlie suddenly wishes for a sling. He could try to transfigure one, but he doesn’t trust his own abilities. Not when it comes to a child’s life. 

“However, we are not so busy that I couldn’t date. I have time to sleep, to eat, and to partake in hobbies. I just choose not to.” 

He usually sews a little bit every day before bed, as a sort of stress-releaser. He could go on a date, instead, if he wanted to. But that wouldn’t be stress-releasing. That would be stress-inducing. Charlie can already feel his heartrate rising at the thought. But that’s not the point, is it? Charlie is always trying to escape the point, even in his own head. 

“It’s not because I’m afraid, or I’m worried about rejection, or anything like that. I have never been interested in dating. I have never looked at a human being and wanted to date them or experience being with them. Not once,” he admits to Hugo. It’s a big underwhelming, when it’s stated like that. You would never guess that it was the secret that haunted Charlie’s dreams, gave him anxiety, and left him alienated. But that’s because he’s not telling Hugo the full story. Once again, he’s lying yet telling the truth. 

There are five gnomes in the garden now. Charlie watches them in alarm. He wonders if they realize he doesn’t like to throw them over the fence. That he is the most sympathetic Weasley. They probably do realize it. Non-human beings are always smarter than most humans give them credit for. Charlie has never understood why this is something other humans can’t comprehend. 

“Do you want to hear my story?” he asks Hugo. Hugo is still sleeping, and of course he doesn’t care. But Charlie is old and tired. And so, he decides to tell the story anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the first chapter of this story. I plan on updating this fic very rapidly, so if you are interested, please tune in regularly. I haven't written any fanfiction in a very long time, so any comments or advice you have would be very much appreciated. Even saying something simple would make me very happy.
> 
> I myself am asexual, and asexual Charlie Weasley has always been important to me. When I was first realizing my asexuality, I found it very helpful to imagine Charlie Weasley's life. Aspects of this fic have been in my head for years. If you have any questions about asexuality, or you would like to learn more, please go to the AVEN website.


	2. Charlie Weasley is a Saint

I have always loved dragons. There was never a time in my life when I didn’t love dragons. Bill told me once that Dad read me a book about dragons when I was four, and ever since then I have never been able to stop talking about them. I don’t remember this book. All I can remember is dreaming about being a dragon. Dragons could fly, they could go anywhere they wanted, they could be free. It was an enthralling thought. I wanted to be free. I wanted to fly. Because you see, at that time, I wasn’t free. At that time, we were at war. 

I wasn’t involved in the war, of course. I was only a child. But even children are affected by war. We see the fear in the age lines on our parents’ faces. And we feel the fear ourselves. It’s palpable in the air around us. We can read the atmosphere. We know something is wrong. 

When I was young, I loved being outside. Well, I suppose that is a weird thing to say. I still love being outside. But when I was young, I often wasn’t allowed outside. Mum was afraid, you see. Sometimes she would take us outside. Me, and Bill, and baby Percy. She would watch Bill and I run around, and she would rock Percy, and she would stare at the border of our property, as if she thought a ghost would appear. She wasn’t afraid of ghosts, of course. No witch is. She was afraid of Death Eaters. And she had reason to be. We were blood traitors, and the amount of people the Death Eaters had killed was unimaginable. 

So, there were some days when Mum wouldn’t let us go outside. On those days she would sit in the armchair and look troubled. I suppose it was a good thing that Percy was such a quiet baby. Together, they would sit in that armchair, and it was almost like they had turned to stone. 

I wasn’t quite as good at being stone. I have never been good at sitting still. I remember playing gobstones with Bill, and begging him to let me go outside. But Bill always said no. You see, Bill has always been a bit wild, a bit rebellious. Yet he has also always been ridiculously responsible. Somehow, he managed to balance both of those traits perfectly. The rest of us Weasleys never managed to do that. Fred and George were a bit too wild. Percy was a bit too responsible. And as for me? Well, I suppose I was both wild and responsible, but in all the wrong ways. 

I hated having to stay inside. I felt like the walls were suffocating me. You know, I still feel like those walls are suffocating me. And so, when I was forced to stay still, I would dream. I would dream I could fly. I would dream I was exploring the world. So, I suppose, while I have always loved dragons, it wasn’t always my dream to study them. Originally, I wanted to be a dragon.

Bill knew this, of course. I don’t remember ever telling him, but somehow Bill knew. Bill always seemed to know. As we got older, Bill started modifying normal games so they would involve dragons. When we played tag, we would run around and pretend to be dragons. When Mum let Bill and I fly the kid-brooms, we would dive-bomb each other, and do elaborate tricks in the air, as if we were dancing dragons. And when Bill gave me piggy-back rides, he would scream “Dragon-rider!” while he ran around the garden. I wasn’t the only one who loved that game. It was Percy’s favorite. He would deny it today, but whenever Percy was the dragon-rider, he would screech in delight and demand Bill to go faster, faster, faster. Bill even played it with Fred and George, who were only toddlers at the time. Bill would hold one under each arm, and he would spin in a circle until the twins were ready to barf. One time, Fred did barf. Mum was a bit angry about that.

These are the happy moments of my childhood. When we were allowed outside, when we were allowed to be free. Even though it is tainted, somewhat, by the obvious fear Mum had, I will never forget tumbling around the garden with Bill, Percy, Fred, and George. 

Everything changed when Mum was pregnant with Ginny. One day, Dad came home, and he and Mum went into the bedroom and talked. They left all of us children behind, even Ron, who was only a baby. Bill was watching Ron, and I was watching Bill watch Ron, when I heard Mum scream. She screamed and screamed and screamed, and I will never forget that sound, not even when I am 80. 

You see, Mum’s twin brothers, Fabian and Gideon, were killed by Death Eaters. Mum never got over their death. And she wasn’t quite the same afterwards. She stopped eating. She stopped sleeping. Dad became frantic trying to convince her to eat food. He would tell her that she was eating for two, but it seemed like she couldn’t hear him. I can clearly remember the day when Dad pulled Bill and I aside, and told us that we were big boys, and he needed our help. So, Bill and I watched over Percy, Fred, George, and little baby Ron. We couldn’t play dragon games, because we weren’t allowed outside, but Bill and I did our best to entertain them. Bill and I also helped clean the house, and we would make snacks for Mum, because we wanted her to eat. 

Once, during this time, I remember giving Mum an apple, and suddenly she started crying. “I’m not a good mother,” she told me, and her face was swollen, “Charlie, are you happy here?” And I remember telling her, “Of course I am happy!” And she started crying again, but I think it was happy tears. I hope it was happy tears. Sometimes, it is hard to tell.

But you see, that was the start of a bad habit. I’ve never been good at lying. I probably will never be good at lying. But I became good at lying while telling the truth. You see, I was happy at the Burrow. I was happy because I loved Mum, and Dad, and Bill, and Percy, and Fred, and George, and Ron, and even Ginny, who hadn’t been born yet. But I was also very unhappy at the Burrow. Because I couldn’t help Mum. And because I felt suffocated by those walls. I felt like I wanted to run. I felt like I wanted to be free. And I was still dreaming about being a dragon. 

In August, Mum gave birth to Ginny. The younger siblings don’t know this, but it was a difficult birth. Mum almost died. Nowadays, some people make bad jokes about how Mum and Dad must have wanted a daughter so badly, that they kept having children until they had one. But it wasn’t like that. When Mum gave birth to Ginny, she injured her womb. She didn’t stop having children because Ginny was a girl. She lost her ability to become pregnant. It was a while before she fully recovered. That was a scary time for me. In my dreams, I would pretend to be a dragon who had healing magic. I would pretend to take away Mum’s pain, and Mum’s grief. Of course, there is no dragon on this earth that has healing magic, but that didn’t stop my imagination. There is nothing quite as powerful as a child’s imagination. 

I promised myself then, as a young child, that I would never do anything that would distress Mum. And I’ve done my best to keep that promise. But that was a bad promise to make. After all, nobody is perfect. 

I think the happiest day during my childhood was the day you-know-who died. I still remember it vividly. I don’t think I will ever forget it. One day, Dad came rushing home. I was asleep at the time. But I remember the loudness, and the shouting. I remember sneaking down the stairs, because I wasn’t supposed to be awake. And then I remember Bill grabbing me and shaking me. He was grinning like a maniac. “You-know-who is gone! You-know-who is gone!” he yelled. And then I remember hearing the fireworks booming outside. I remember the wizards and witches of all sorts coming to visit us. I remember Mum, who had only given birth a few months before, baking a cake at midnight, and I remember eating it. I even remember the flavor—chocolate hazelnut. That was a truly happy day. I think that day was one of the few days I didn’t dream I was a dragon. When I finally went to bed that night, I dreamed I was merely me. Charlie Weasley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to thank everyone who has left a comment. It makes me very happy. I am a novice when it comes to writing fanfiction, so I appreciate any advice or comment you can give.
> 
> This chapter is quite a bit different from the last chapter stylistically. This fic will alternate between two styles. When it is focused on modern-day events, it will be written in third-person and the style will be grammatically correct and almost a bit lyrical. However, when Charlie is telling his story, it will be written in first-person, and it may be not so grammatically correct, as it may have run-on sentences and so on. I did this intentionally, as I wanted to emphasis that this is Charlie Weasley telling his story. Charlie Weasley has been in the closet for a very long time, and it is important for Charlie, and for the reader, to fully understand that this is Charlie Weasley telling his own story, in his own words. 
> 
> However, I am a bit conflicted when it comes to this choice I made, about the two different writing styles. If you have any opinion on the matter, please feel free to share.  
>   
> Also, you may be wondering why this chapter even exists. If this story is focused on asexuality, then shouldn't it start at puberty? But this story is about Charlie Weasley as a person, and his childhood is an important part of it. Thus, this chapter.  
>    
> Once again, thank you for reading this fic. It makes me very happy! I really do appreciate any comments you are willing to give!


	3. Charlie Weasley is Gay

The sun is fading in the sky. Charlie watches the lights, the oranges and the pinks, and thinks there is nothing more beautiful than a setting sun. Except, perhaps, a rising one. The beauty of the setting sun represents the chance to relax. It is the beauty of a finished day. But a rising sun is beautiful because of the hope it inspires. It is the start of a new day, where anything is possible. 

“I suppose I should tell you about Hogwarts next,” he wonders aloud to Hugo. Hugo is still sleeping, an almost miraculous achievement. Perhaps talking about his childhood at all had been a bit of a detour. People would argue that his disinterest in dating surely came about because of something that happened during puberty. But Charlie never saw it that way. Nothing had changed. Nothing had gone awry. He simply was this way, and he always will be. He was Charlie when he was a child, he was Charlie when he was a teenager, he is Charlie as an adult, and he will continue to be Charlie as a senior. 

“Please don’t tell him about Hogwarts,” a voice suddenly says, and Charlie feels himself jump out of his skin. It is easy to forget, out here in the garden, that more people exist besides just himself and Hugo. Charlie turns around while shifting as little as possible, in order not to wake Hugo, to see Ron smiling softly down at him. 

From the corner of his eye he sees Ron squat down, and then finally sit. There are bruises under his eyes, thick and purple, and Ron seems brutally tired. It must be exhausting having a newborn baby, alongside a young daughter. But Charlie knows Ron is also torn about his decision to quit the Aurors to work with George. It is best for everyone. Being an Auror was exhausting for Ron, and to be honest he had never truly liked it. And it gave him more time to spend with Rose and Hugo, and allowed him to help George, who hated being alone in the shop. But there was also a sense of disquiet. Despite Ron’s protests to the contrary, Ron did share some similarities with Percy, and there had been a bit of pride in him, in his ability to rise to such an important position. As a shopkeeper, Ron would never be so important again. Charlie has never understood such things. Has never followed such social ques. But he has the ability to empathize, and he knows such things are important to other people. 

“Why can’t I tell him about Hogwarts? He will go there one day,” Charlie asks him. He does his best to pretend that he hadn’t been about to share some important secrets with Hugo. Although the garden is freeing, compared to the suffocating walls of the Burrow, it isn’t truly private. Charlie should have been more careful. But sometimes Charlie feels like he is a puzzle about to break. He feels uneasy. If Ron pushes in just the right way, he might start spilling all his secrets to him. And that is something Charlie is not ready for. 

“Rose keeps pestering us about Hogwarts. She desperately wants to go. It can get very tiresome to listen to,” Ron tells him, and then he covers his face with his hands. Charlie remembers his father doing something similar when he was a child, and he feels suddenly uneasy. He realizes exactly how old they are. 

“Hugo is a very good baby,” Charlie tells him instead. And Ron lightens up slightly, the tension loosens in his shoulders. “He is a good baby,” Ron says, endlessly fond, “He is much quieter than Rose was. Rose was a little firecracker. Sometimes I wonder who he is like, me or Hermione? I don’t think he is like either of us. Both Hermione and I are pretty loud.” They are pretty loud, Charlie muses. When they argue, it is like the world is falling down. 

Ron reaches his arms forward, as if he is reaching for Hugo, but then he drops them, and lets his shoulders relax. Ron has always been a bit uneasy when it comes to other people holding either Rose or Hugo. It is partly jealousy. It is partly protectiveness. It is partly fear. But people have always trusted Charlie with their babies. Just like they have always trusted Charlie with their animals. And there is no uneasiness in Ron’s frame as arranges himself into a more comfortable position. Ron is considerably taller than Charlie, as Ron is the tallest brother and Charlie is one of the shorter ones. But sitting side by side, it is easy to forget the height difference or even the age difference. It is easy to forget that Charlie once changed Ron’s diapers. 

“So, Charlie, is this the time you will finally stay home?” Ron doesn’t look at him as he asks him. He is eyeing the garden gnomes, who have multiplied in number. There are ten now, and Ron has never had the hesitance Charlie has when it comes to throwing them over the fence. Charlie wonders if he will spring forward, like a cat. He holds Hugo tightly. He promises himself he will not jump. 

“No, I will only be staying at the burrow for a month,” he says this very carefully, because this thread of conversation has often led to arguments in the past. Nobody likes that he is still working for the dragon sanctuary. That type of job is a job for young people, they say. And Charlie is no longer a young man. He can already hear the argument in his head. Sometimes people are so repetitive, saying the same thing over and over. Charlie feels like a puppet on a string, a train on a track.

“You are a bit old to be working for the dragon sanctuary, aren’t you?” Ron says softly, as if he and Mum and Dad and Bill and everyone hasn’t said this thing before. Ron is always a bit gentler, when he argues with Charlie. Everyone is. But Charlie finds himself feeling a bit upset, despite that. He swallows down the negative feelings. He doesn’t allow himself to get mad. He has never liked yelling, never understood the need to argue and fight. 

The truth is, though, that he is a bit upset. That he is feeling a bit flighty, a bit on edge. Charlie loves dragons. He loves their magnificence, their strength, their beauty, and their endurability. He dreamed of being one when he was a child. He dreamed of seeing one as a teenager. He dreams of living with them as an adult. Charlie has never felt so free as he does when he is in the presence of a dragon. And the idea of losing that is terrifying. Charlie has always been a bad Gryffindor when it comes to things like that. 

There is only the smallest sliver of light in the sky. Charlie uses the light to count the freckles on Hugo’s face. They are like constellations in the sky, making endless patterns and shapes. Charlie tries not to think about the other truth, the secondary truth. That without this job, which is in the middle of nowhere, dangerous and secluded and busy, he wouldn’t have a good excuse for why he isn’t dating. For why he isn’t married. 

“I’m not that old,” Charlie says, exactly on script. But before he can continue, he can feel Ron springing up, and suddenly there are ten gnomes flying over the fence. Charlie watches the gnomes stand up and start walking home. He knows they will come back, maybe the next day, and try to sneak into the garden again. Humans are not the only ones who work in repetitive patterns.

“Hey Ron, you should be careful,” somebody says, and then Ginny is standing there, bopping Ron on the head, “You know Charlie doesn’t like throwing the gnomes over the fence like that.” She is grinning, wide and vicious, and Charlie knows Ginny had bopped Ron on the head because she wanted to, and not because she wanted to protect Charlie’s sensibilities. Charlie says nothing, but he lets his face relax into a small smile. In the back of his mind he can see a small Ron and a small Ginny, arguing over everything from food to toys to blankets. He thinks that they are all young, still, after all. 

“Yeah, well,” Ron grumbles, and he stretches forward, as if he is about to bop Ginny back. But he suddenly drops his arm, and sighs. Suddenly, he is old again. It must really be exhausting having a newborn baby. “Thanks for watching Hugo,” Ron says, and suddenly he is reaching for Hugo. Charlie hands him over. He feels cold without him. It had been comforting, to feel another human’s heartbeat. It reminded Charlie that he wasn’t alone in the world. “We are going back home now,” Ron says, “I hope to see you soon, Charlie.” And then Ron turns around and walks away, without saying goodbye to Ginny. Charlie can feel himself grin a little bit in response. Sometimes childishness is amusing. 

Ginny plops down on the ground next to him. “You know, Charlie, I never really understood why you don’t like de-gnoming,” Ginny says, and it is so off-script that Charlie feels himself at a loss. He isn’t quite sure what to say. The truth of it, he thinks, is that the gnomes are only following their natural instinct, and what right do humans have to create unnatural barriers? But Charlie isn’t sure how to articulate this. For a while, Charlie stares at the dying sun and ponders this.

“So, Charlie,” Ginny says, perhaps tired of waiting and ready to move to another point of conversation, “Do you have a boyfriend?” And she wiggles her eyebrows, in the exact way she did when she was 13, and she first asked Charlie that question. Charlie can still remember the exact shock of it, when he came home to see the world cup, and Ginny sprung that question on him while he had been weeding the garden. 

“I don’t have a boyfriend,” Charlie simply says. And it is true and answers the question. But it doesn’t answer the true question, the questions hidden under Ginny’s eyebrows, under Ginny’s assumptions. “Why have you never had a girlfriend?” The eyebrows say. “Why have you never had a boyfriend? Are you straight? Are you gay? Are you lying to us? Why won’t you come home?” And Charlie never answers those questions, because Charlie is not ready to. Maybe he will never be ready to. 

“You know, my taste in guys has changed as I have gotten older,” Ginny says, not bothered by Charlie’s non-reply. Ginny had convinced herself, by the time she was 15, that Charlie must be gay, and that is why no girlfriend has ever been mentioned in the numerous letters he sent home. That must also be why, she thinks, he never comes home. He must think Mum and Dad wouldn’t approve! She is so convinced of this, that nothing Charlie says will ever deter her opinion. Thus, Charlie never tries.

“Of course, I will always love Harry,” Ginny continues on, quite happily, “But you can’t help but admire people as they walk by. However, I’ve realized, lately, the types of men I have been eyeing are different than they used to be. It is funny, how age changes things, isn’t it?” And she stares at Charlie, as if Charlie has an opinion on the matter.

The truth is, Charlie has never admired anyone sexually, not once, in his entire life. And although everyone around him, from his roommates at Hogwarts, to his siblings, to his fellow dragonologists, to the newspaper, and to his books, always are very firm on the fact that sexual attraction is a thing, a part of Charlie feels that perhaps it is all a hoax, a fad to make life more interesting. 

“Ginny, we are going home now,” a voice calls from the darkness, and it is Harry, with James peering behind his shoulder. Ginny springs up, full of energy, and says goodbye to him. Charlie watches her walk away, and feels slightly sad, that his youngest sibling has become such a grown woman. The world really has changed, hasn’t it?

The sun has fully set, by now, and the stars and moon are vibrantly bright in the sky. Charlie charts the constellations in his head, and tries to feel at peace. But he feels on edge, dangerously brittle, as if the smallest push would scatter him into a million pieces. In the darkness, the world seems quieter, more on edge. Charlie can hear the hens in their coop, rustling around. Suddenly Charlie stands up, and starts heading to the sound. Charlie has always loved dragons, ever since he can remember. But he has also always loved animals. Animals of all kinds are comforting, and Charlie finds himself always drawn to them. 

The coop is crowded, but this isn’t the first time Charlie has snuck in, and he knows he is able to fit. After he sits down, he sits quietly, and listens. He is able to distinguish where they are, all five of them. It is comforting, to know they are here. To know they are alive. 

“Do you want to hear a story?” he whispers quietly. The hens don’t answer, of course, but Charlie ponders on the best place to start. Some people would say that talking to animals is silly. However, those people are not Charlie Weasley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I would like to thank everyone for reading my fic! I am also very thankful for any kudos and comment I get. It really makes my day!
> 
> For this chapter, we are back in the present time, and we get some sibling bonding time. The Weasleys are always portrayed as being this wild family, to the point where it can become a bit of a caricature. I am trying to give them all their own unique personalities, so they don't just end up being shades of the same person (besides poor Percy, who is always portrayed as the big black sheep). We are going to see more Weasley interaction in the future, and not just at night when everyone is a bit tired. So please look forward to that.
> 
> Also, this is a bit off-topic, but I had a small accident and burned my hand. It hurts a bit to type, and it is not happy at the moment. I hope that didn't affect the quality of this chapter.


End file.
